Cut Up Angels, chapter 6
You clearly look uncomfortable with the suggestion, but I keep insisting. "Billie, please, tell your mom. Please."
You look at me, your eyes becoming hard and cold, filled with anger. "You don't know what he's capable of."
I shrink back, feeling tiny. You keep going: "You don't know how with one touch he can make someone so miserable...I just, I can't take it, but I'd rather he take his anger out on me than her...God, she's done so much for me, I couldn't do that to her...I, I deserve it..." Suddenly you've gone from angry to soft.
"Billie. You don't deserve any of this; none of your family does. Please, just tell your mom that--"
"Tell me what?"
Ohshitohshitohshit. Your mom stands in the doorway, holding two cups of steamy hot coco in her hands. I stare at my feet. Now that I'd brought it up, you'd have to finish it.
You didn't have to say anything. As I watch you unbutton your shirt again, my heart crumbles a little more.
When your mom sees the wounds, she screams and drops the mugs of hot coco. They shatter, but the sound seems quiet.
I'll never forget this night. It felt as though everyone around me was moving in fast-motion, but I was standing still; invisible. Like they were passing through me.
I watched as Mrs. Armstrong stormed into the hall and screamed at Frank, until I was sure she would pass out from turning so red in the face. It wasn't until she started throwing plates at him (when they agreeably shattered on his back, I smiled) that you interfered.
I wanted to stop you, but my feet wouldn't move. I simply watched as you stepped between them, risking a lot. Your mom has stopped throwing plates, and she keels over the counting, catching her breath as much as possible between sobs. That's when I notice Frank lunges at you with fire burning in his eyes.
Thankfully, your brother Allen is smart enough to know that your step-dad isn't barreling towards you to give you a hug. He throws a punch right at his face which, though it's not too strong, sends Frank stumbling seeing as he's drunk. But soon he's back on his feet.
David gets involved too, while Anna, Holly and Marcy watch from the side, scared. You push David and Allen aside and starts throwing punches yourself at Frank. It isn't until you pick up a baseball bat, aiming to beat Frank with it, that Mike and Tre pull you off.
"I know, I want to, too," Mike says.
Your mom orders all the kids-- including Mike, Tre and I-- to go into another room. You don't move. Your mom holds the baseball bat now, threatening Frank.
"If you move before the police get here, I swear to God, I'll kill you," She cries.
It's clear that your siblings aren't going to go to their rooms and miss this-- especially when your mom is dealing with it on her own. David, who tends to be overprotective, orders no one to move. Agreeably, the 8 of us crowd behind a wall and watch the scene unfold.
The door bursts open and, to Mrs. Armstrong's disappointment, it isn't the police, but instead my mom. I take the chance to come out of our hiding spot and run to my mom. She gives me a hug-- something I haven't felt since I was little, but it's still familiar.
Frank has receded to the back corner of the room, blood dripping from his head, pleading. "Come on, honey, you know I didn't mean any of it, you know I love you and the kids..."
You glare at him. I know you want him dead.
The rest of the night goes by fast. The police arrive. They cuff Frank and take him away. All of your siblings are questioned, then me, Mike and Tre, then your mom, then you-- which takes longest of all. A medical guy checks out your wounds, saying though the gash (which was apparently from a knife) was deep, didn't need stitches. The bandage you up and say you're okay to go.
My mom pulls me away from Mike, Tre and you. "Come on, we'd better leave Billie Joe and his mom alone," She says.
"No," You say with determination. "I want to stay with my friends." Suddenly you look young for 17, to me.
"You guys can spend the night," I say.
"Laura, I don't know if--"
"No, it's probably better if he does," Your mom says. "I have to go down to the station and get things sorted out..." She sighs and embraces you.
"I'm so sorry, Billie."
"Don't worry Mom. It's not your fault."
That night, we stay up and talk over drinks and cigarettes. You tell us the whole story, from the day it first started (only a week after the wedding), till today.
And by the next morning, Frank and your mom are divorced, and he's got a life sentence in jail.
You look at me, your eyes becoming hard and cold, filled with anger. "You don't know what he's capable of."
I shrink back, feeling tiny. You keep going: "You don't know how with one touch he can make someone so miserable...I just, I can't take it, but I'd rather he take his anger out on me than her...God, she's done so much for me, I couldn't do that to her...I, I deserve it..." Suddenly you've gone from angry to soft.
"Billie. You don't deserve any of this; none of your family does. Please, just tell your mom that--"
"Tell me what?"
Ohshitohshitohshit. Your mom stands in the doorway, holding two cups of steamy hot coco in her hands. I stare at my feet. Now that I'd brought it up, you'd have to finish it.
You didn't have to say anything. As I watch you unbutton your shirt again, my heart crumbles a little more.
When your mom sees the wounds, she screams and drops the mugs of hot coco. They shatter, but the sound seems quiet.
I'll never forget this night. It felt as though everyone around me was moving in fast-motion, but I was standing still; invisible. Like they were passing through me.
I watched as Mrs. Armstrong stormed into the hall and screamed at Frank, until I was sure she would pass out from turning so red in the face. It wasn't until she started throwing plates at him (when they agreeably shattered on his back, I smiled) that you interfered.
I wanted to stop you, but my feet wouldn't move. I simply watched as you stepped between them, risking a lot. Your mom has stopped throwing plates, and she keels over the counting, catching her breath as much as possible between sobs. That's when I notice Frank lunges at you with fire burning in his eyes.
Thankfully, your brother Allen is smart enough to know that your step-dad isn't barreling towards you to give you a hug. He throws a punch right at his face which, though it's not too strong, sends Frank stumbling seeing as he's drunk. But soon he's back on his feet.
David gets involved too, while Anna, Holly and Marcy watch from the side, scared. You push David and Allen aside and starts throwing punches yourself at Frank. It isn't until you pick up a baseball bat, aiming to beat Frank with it, that Mike and Tre pull you off.
"I know, I want to, too," Mike says.
Your mom orders all the kids-- including Mike, Tre and I-- to go into another room. You don't move. Your mom holds the baseball bat now, threatening Frank.
"If you move before the police get here, I swear to God, I'll kill you," She cries.
It's clear that your siblings aren't going to go to their rooms and miss this-- especially when your mom is dealing with it on her own. David, who tends to be overprotective, orders no one to move. Agreeably, the 8 of us crowd behind a wall and watch the scene unfold.
The door bursts open and, to Mrs. Armstrong's disappointment, it isn't the police, but instead my mom. I take the chance to come out of our hiding spot and run to my mom. She gives me a hug-- something I haven't felt since I was little, but it's still familiar.
Frank has receded to the back corner of the room, blood dripping from his head, pleading. "Come on, honey, you know I didn't mean any of it, you know I love you and the kids..."
You glare at him. I know you want him dead.
The rest of the night goes by fast. The police arrive. They cuff Frank and take him away. All of your siblings are questioned, then me, Mike and Tre, then your mom, then you-- which takes longest of all. A medical guy checks out your wounds, saying though the gash (which was apparently from a knife) was deep, didn't need stitches. The bandage you up and say you're okay to go.
My mom pulls me away from Mike, Tre and you. "Come on, we'd better leave Billie Joe and his mom alone," She says.
"No," You say with determination. "I want to stay with my friends." Suddenly you look young for 17, to me.
"You guys can spend the night," I say.
"Laura, I don't know if--"
"No, it's probably better if he does," Your mom says. "I have to go down to the station and get things sorted out..." She sighs and embraces you.
"I'm so sorry, Billie."
"Don't worry Mom. It's not your fault."
That night, we stay up and talk over drinks and cigarettes. You tell us the whole story, from the day it first started (only a week after the wedding), till today.
And by the next morning, Frank and your mom are divorced, and he's got a life sentence in jail.
